Seized
by Alive At Last
Summary: COMPLETE Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.
1. Chapter 1

**Seized  
****Summary: **Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.  
**A/N:** Diving into the CSI: NY pool again. Hope this is as good as the last.

* * *

The radio was humming in his car as Don Flack slid in, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. He listened to the woman on the other line, who was saying something about a body in Queens being discovered. When he heard the address, he looked at the street sign and noticed he was only a block or two from the crime. Don placed his coffee in the cup holder and started his car, revving it for a moment before turning on his siren and speeding off.

Don came around the turn in a few moments, stopping when his headlights caught the body in the alley. From the looks of it, the assailant had made their exit, so he grabbed his gun, placed it in his holster, and opened the door. He came upon the body, standing next to it. It was a man, about twenty, with a pool of blood spreading out around him. Don bent down and scanned for the wound; there was a puncture wound on the man's upper left biceps, and another on his lower right side. Don brought his fingers to the man's neck and waited, searching for a pulse.

While he waited, feeling for the pulse, behind him a pair of hand grabbed him; one clamping over his mouth, and another over his left elbow, across his abdomen, and grasping his inner right elbow. Don felt a rag between his mouth and the hand, which was damp with some liquid. Furiously, as the assailant began to drag Don backwards, the cop kicked his legs and let out a few muffled cries of help. He fought as hard as he could, but the man was too strong. Soon the liquid's fumes filled Don's lungs and he fainted, going limp. The assailant continued to drag the cop off, who was now helpless.

Don was thrown into the back of a black car; his arms were pulled behind his back and duct taped together at the wrists. His ankles were taped in the same manner. A piece of tape was stretched across his mouth, then ran around the back of his head a few times for good measure. Once he was secured, the door was slammed shut, the assailant hopped into the driver's seat, and the black car sped off.

----------

Danny, followed by Lindsay, ducked under the yellow crime tape and walked upon the body. He looked at the body for a moment, scanning for possible wounds that might of killed the man. The blood pool was large, so he knew the man was dead. Danny pointed a finger at a puncture wound. "Possible bullet hole on the left biceps." His finger moved down. "Another possible on the lower right side."

Lindsay bent down and snapped a couple of pictures of the wounds. She lifted his hand, examining it. "Looks like he fought against the attacker. Blood under his nails."

Danny wasn't paying much attention. His eyes were on the ground where there were drag marks in the dirt. Then he turned his attention to the car positioned within the crime scene. For a moment he stared at it before walking up to it. Lindsay looked up at him.

"Danny?"

He kept walking to the car. The door was open, so he strolled around it and looked inside. There was a cup of coffee, still steaming slightly, in the cup holder and a radio on the dashboard. The car looked oddly familiar. "Did anyone say who's car this was?" he called. Lindsay shook her head no. So Danny slid into the car and leaned over the arm rest. He opened the glove compartment, pulling out the registration. His eyes ran over the slip of paper, then froze when he read the name.

Lindsay looked over at him and noticed he had grown paler. "What is it?"

The blond man looked up at her. "This is Flack's car."

"What?"

"Where's Flack?"

"He never appeared at the scene, Danny."

Danny cursed lowly, pulling out his phone and quickly dialing the number.

----------

Mac sauntered down the hall towards his office when the phone on his belt loop rang out. The black-haired man ignored it for a moment since he was at his door. After walking in and setting his things down, he pulled the phone from his loop and flipped it open. "Taylor."

"_Mac, it's Danny. We've got a problem here."_

Mac noticed how distraught his colleague was. "What is it, Danny?"

"_At our scene, there is a car here sitting within the crime tape."_

"And…?"

"_It's registered to Donald Flack Jr.. There is no Don Flack here."_

Mac stopped for a moment. "What?"

"_Please tell me you know where Don is."_

"Unfortunately, I don't. I'll check around for him. Don't panic, Danny. He'll turn up; he always does."

Danny was quiet on the other end. Then, shakily, he said, _"Okay… I'll look around here."_

The other end of the line cut off, and Mac looked at his phone for a moment longer. With a little hesitation, he closed the phone in his fist.

----------

Slowly, Don woke from his slumber and took a look around. The room was eerily dark and silent. He turned his head, searching for any type of light. On the other side of the room, a small ray of light escaped through the bottom of what looked like a door frame. He blinked, then began to work his arms to try to free them. It was no use, so he laid still.

_Okay, so I'm in a dark room, hands and feet tied and mouth taped shut_, he thought, groaning. He threw his head back onto what felt like a pillow and waited for his eyes to adjust. Anyone could somewhat see in the dark if they focus. So he waited, staring at the ceiling. Soon his eyes adjusted, but that didn't give him much help. He could, however, see the four corners of the room. It was a meekly blank room, empty except for the bed he was laying on now. Don wiggled, trying to get himself to a sitting position. As he did so, he felt that the kidnapper hadn't taken his cell phone or knife. If only he could reach his front pockets. His gun was missing though.

After a while of wiggling, Don was sitting up with his legs thrown over the edge of the bed, feet planted flat on the floor. He felt his phone slipping out of his pocket; the frame was sticking out of the top of his jeans pocket. Don squirmed, moving his hips around, trying to free the phone. As he worked, his tongue worked in his mouth, gathering saliva. There was an old trick his father taught him; it wouldn't get the tape all the way off of his mouth, but if he licked his lips and blew out of his mouth, it would make a bubble in the tape, allowing him to talk. The phone slipped free from his pocket, laying on his lap.

_Good_, he thought happily. He licked his lips slowly, pushing the tape from his mouth. Then, he blew. The tape pulled from the edges of his mouth. "Yes," he whispered; it was muffled but still a distinct 'yes'.

Don wiggled so the phone fell on the bed beside his hips. He moved his hands and grabbed it between his finger tips. "Thank god," Don murmured.

Just as he grabbed the phone, it began to vibrate, then rang softly. His fingers opened it, then felt and pressed what he hoped was the speaker button. Luckily it was.

"_Hello? Flack?"_

Don knew that voice; he almost yelled out in joy. It was Mac Taylor.

"_Don, can you hear me?"_

"Yes," he called, trying to make his words understandable.

"_Don?"_

"Mac, please say you can hear me."

"_Don, I hear something, but I can't understand. I'm going to track your location and try to find you."_

A bang from across the room made Don jump. His head jerked towards the door where someone stood. The light was flicked on, and Don closed his eyes at the sudden light. He heard the footsteps, getting louder, and he cracked open an eye. He couldn't see much; it was way too bright and he had to close his eyes again. Mac hollered about something on the phone before it was cut off with a snap. Don forced his eyes open, seeing his phone broken in half between two large hands.

"You little bitch." The phone was dropped, and as Don raised his head up, one of the hands was brought across the side of his face in a fist, knocking him onto the floor. He laid there on his stomach, moaning for a moment.

"What do you want?" he asked hoarsely.

"So you can talk too?" The man was irritated. A hand grasped a fistful of hair on the back of Don's head, bringing his head up sharply. Don let out a pained yell. A knife flicked out, and the tape was cut open, cutting a line down the cop's cheek. The rest of the tape was ripped from his head, pulling skin and hair from the back of his head. Don was thrown back to the floor, face pressed on the ground. He panted softly.

He heard a rip, probably of cloth or some fabric. His head was brought up the same as before, and the fabric was forced into his mouth. Again, his mouth was taped shut. Don groaned, squirming again. The movement earned a kick in the side.

"Lay still, cop." This was a different voice. It was softer, younger than the first.

"We should of taken the phone from him in the first place. Why didn't you check him?" That was the first guy.

"Don't blame me. This was your idea, not mine. I never wanted to involve a pig."

"He saw us, I know it."

Don, hearing this, shook his head no furiously. Another kick was delivered.

The younger guy spoke. "See? That was a 'no' from him. He never saw us."

"That meant nothing. Just trying to find someway out." The first guy, who had spoken, laughed. "But it ain't workin', is it?"

"Just leave him be, man."

"Shut up. Go check him for any weapons or anything."

Someone approached him, and Don tensed up. The other person walked out of the room, leaving him and one guy alone.

"I never wanted this, man." It was the young guy. Don still couldn't see him, but he nodded and moaned. The boy's hands searched his pockets quickly, finding the knife in his front pocket. He took it out, probably looked at it for a moment, then slid it into Don's shoe. Don made a noise in question.

The boy grabbed Don's upper arms, hoisting him up and back onto the bed. He was placed back into a sitting position and was looking into the boy's face. The boy was white, probably seventeen at the most, innocent eyes and a worried look on his face. He had deep brown hair, cut short, and big green eyes.

The boy stood up, looking down at him for a moment, then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him; he left the light on. Don began to scream, but it came out a soft whine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Seized  
****Summary: **Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.

* * *

After what seemed like endless phone calls, Mac had gotten no where in his search for the missing NYPD officer. He decided to go to the lounge for a cup of coffee, and to see if he could find Danny or Lindsay to find out the details of what was actually going on. The retired marine only talked to Danny over the phone once about this and had called Flack's phone, which still said it was disconnected. Mac wanted to talk to Danny face-to-face.

As he walked to the lounge, he passed the lab where Danny was buzzing around, looking anxious. Mac invited himself in. "Danny."

The blond man looked up and blinked, then uttered a small greeting before lowering his head back to the pictures. Mac walked up to him and placed his hand over the pictures. Danny looked up at the black-haired man. "What, Mac? I'm doing something."

"I need to know what's going on with Flack." Danny looked down at the pictures, glaring at Mac's hand. "Now, Danny."

Danny looked back up, shifting the weight from one foot to the other and bracing his hand on the table. "Lindsay and I arrived at the scene like usual. She went straight to the body, I followed slowly, looking around. After we took a look at the body, took some photos, I went to the car that was in the crime scene. Inside was a cup of steaming coffee, like the person just drove up, got out, and left."

Danny paused for a moment. Mac made a hand motion, encouraging him. "What else, Danny?" he asked, softly.

"Um, I took out the registration and looked at the name; it said Don Flack Jr. When I asked Lindsay and the other officers if he had reported to the scene and they said no."

"When you looked at the scene, did you see anything that would suggest someone had been taken against their will, or…"

Danny grabbed Mac's hand, taking it off of the pictures, then began to rifle through them. He laid a few out on the table in a line, glancing up at Mac as he did so. Mac watched him work silently. "The car door wide open, the cup of coffee… I found some disruption in the dirt and gravel. Looks like heel marks here," he used his pinkie to point out the u-shaped marks, "and these lines show that he stopped fighting and was dragged."

"Passed out?"

"Most likely. Then they stop, and there's what looks like a knee impression and the outlines of a foot. It'd be a size ten in men's."

Mac looked at the pictures. "Only one footprint?"

"Probably from kneeling down and picking him up. The weight would force his foot down and make the outline."

Mac took a look at Danny's face; the younger man was clearly worried since he was close friends with Flack. Sincerely, Mac placed his hand on Danny's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You did good, Danny. We'll find him."

"So, what did you find? I know you looked," Danny asked.

"I called his phone. He answered, I know he did, and tried saying something. I think he was bound and gagged, but somehow got his phone out. But then it got cut off before I got to trace it. Each time I call it, it says the phone was disconnected."

Danny gave a small sigh. "Okay then." He paused, looking up at Mac. "You're not going to give up, right?"

There was another pause. "Of course not, Danny. Never."

----------

Don rocked back and forth on the bed, sitting up still. It was quiet and boring beyond belief. He had tried to blow the tape off like last time, but with the fabric in his mouth, he couldn't take in a breath through his mouth. His tongue was pressed onto the bottom of his mouth and had limited movement, except for side-to-side. Don drummed his fingers together, tapping the tips in patterns. It must have been a few hours since he had woken. The cut on his cheek had stopped bleeding, but there were small drops on his white shirt; his jacket was open. Don worked his shoulders a little since they were becoming sore.

His stomach rumbled softly, but seemed loud in the empty room. He groaned a little, laying his head on his shoulder and closing his eyes. And he needed to take a leak.

The door opened slowly; Don stiffened a little, looking at the door. It was the younger boy from before, holding a bowl of something. Looked like oatmeal. He sat beside Don on the bed, placing the bowl at his side.

"How are you holding up, officer?"

Don make a noise and shrugged in a 'I could be better' tone. The kid frowned.

"Mind if I grab that knife in your shoe? I need to take the tape off."

Don lifted his feet slightly, as if saying 'Go ahead'. The kid reached down and pulled out the knife. With the blade flicked out, slid the tip down the tape, being careful not to cut him. Then he pulled the tape off, making Don groan. "Sorry," the boy apologized. Don pushed the fabric out of his mouth with his tongue.

"That was uncomfortable," he stated, working his jaw. "Mind giving my shoulders a rest?" he asked, moving his hands a little. "I'd appreciate it."

The boy looked skeptical for a moment. Don grinned and lifted his feet again. "I can't go anywhere, kid." There was a lingering moment. "What's you name, anyways?"

The kid was silent, cutting the tape that bound Don's arms. Once his arms were free, Don sighed happily and moved them in front to stretch. Then, he laid them on his lap and waited for the boy's answer.

"It's Seth."

Don extended a hand. "Don Flack."

Seth took it, giving it a little pressure, then took his hand back. He took the bowl and handed it to Don, who took it.

"How old are you, Seth?"

"Sixteen, sir."

Don took a bite, hesitated with it in his mouth, then swallowed. He took another. "You look older than that."

Seth shrugged. "I don't pay much attention."

Don finished eating what was in the bowl. He set it aside and looked at Seth. "How did you get in this whole ordeal?"

"My brother, the one who hit you earlier, saw you coming up on Carlos. After you were out of your car and everything, he was sure you saw him, so he decided to take you to keep anyone from finding out."

"Hold old is your brother?" Don was taking off his jacket; it was hot in that little room.

"Twenty-two."

"Is Carlos the dead kid?"

Seth nodded, then looked anxiously at the door. "I need to get you tied back up. Put your arms back behind your back, Mr. Flack." He took a roll of duct tape from his pocket, Flack raised a brow at this, and pealed the end from the roll. Don stood as best as he could, putting his arms behind his back. Seth taped his wrists together, rolling the roll around a few times.

"You don't need to do this, Seth."

Seth took the fabric from the floor and went to put it back into Don's mouth, but Don shied away for a moment. "Wait. Do you know what your brother is planning to do with me? Or what he's planning to do all together?"

The fabric was pushed into Don's mouth, making him groan impatiently. His mouth was duct taped again. Seth grimaced.

"I have no clue."

Don grunted, rolling his eyes. Seth pushed Don back on the bed, then took the empty bowl in his hands. The knife was pushed back into Don's shoe. Seth walked out the door, closing it behind him. The cop groaned, falling over on his side.

----------

Stella walked into the autopsy room, hearing some classical music playing in the background. She glanced around for Sid for a moment, then spotting him dancing beside the body on the table. He didn't look up. Stella walked on in, clearing her throat as she did. Sid looked up, then smiled. He picked up the remote to his CD player and stopped the music. "Good morning, Ms. Bonasera."

"You're in a good mood today, Sid."

The doctor grinned. "Any day that you can get out of bed is a good day." He stopped and winked. "My grandfather taught me that."

"He's a wise man."

Sid shrugged and looked down at the body for a moment. Stella stood across from Sid. "What's the COD?" she asked.

Sid pointed a finger to the puncture wound on the body's left biceps, then another at the wound on his right side. "Bled to death. I didn't find any bullets because there were none. It was a stab wound, but not by a knife."

"Any idea what the weapon would be?"

"Well, I found aluminum shards on the inside of the wound. I can't say what the weapon was, but you're looking for something with a long, sharp aluminum tip."

He turned to another table and took a small, plastic tin in his hands. Stella took it when he offered. "What's this?"

"I took it upon myself to scrape under his nails. Blood."

"Thanks, Sid."

He smiled, then as soon as the door closed behind her, he turned on the music again and swayed a little, humming to the tune.

----------

Seth sat in a chair just outside the bedroom where the cop was being held. He had his chin resting in the palm of his hand and was staring off. There was a blackboard nailed to a wall with writing covering the entire thing. Another man was in the room; he had a hard face, clearly filled with anger. On his face were three long scratches; they began right above the left eyebrow and ended on the jaw. The area around the scratches were red and beginning to swell. He was leaning against the backboard, looking at Seth.

"Seth." The older man looked up at the kid.

Seth raised his eyes, but kept his head positioned. "What?"

"Ever heard of the B.T.K. killer?"

"No." Seth was being as curt as possible.

The man pushed himself off of the black board, crossing his arms over his chest. "His name was Dennis Rader and he had a series of serial kills in Wichita, Kansas."

"So?"

"Do you know what B.T.K. means?" He waited, but when he got no answer, he took it as a no. "B.T.K. Bind, torture, kill."

"What's your point?"

"The pig is bound," he mused. A small smile stretched across his face. He held up three fingers, then pulled one down. "What's the fun if we just kill the pig? Why don't we have a little fun?"

Seth tilted his head up. "That guy has been through enough."

The man sneered and walked over. "What are you saying, Seth?"

"I'm just saying we should let him go. We could get in even more trouble if they find a cop here."

Seth was now looking up at the man. The man grabbed Seth's collar and jerked him up. With their faces close, he hissed, "Well who asked you?" Seth swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Dave--" but he was cut off with a punch to the face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Stay here," he warned, pointing a finger at the kid. He opened the door, seeing the cop jerk his head up, and chuckled. Once he was inside the room, he closed the door behind him.

Seth looked after him, sighing. "Damn."


	3. Chapter 3

**Seized  
****Summary: **Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.

* * *

As the door opened, Don hoped it was Seth again, but to his dismay it wasn't. It was an older man this time. Again, Don tensed up and waited for him to approach him. The door was shut, and locked, and the man walked up to him. He looked down at the cop, smirking like he had a secret. "Oink, oink," he taunted, putting a hand on Don's cheek. In turn, Don jerked his head away and gave a glare. But the man sneered and brought his hand up. Don saw this and braced himself, closing one eye and looking up at him through one. "Stupid cop!" he called, bringing his fist down across Don's jaw. Don fell back onto the bed, wincing and wanting to scream. The man laughed, grabbing a fistful of Don's black hair and pulling him back up. "B.T.K., baby. You know what that means?"

Don nodded, closing his eyes and sinking his teeth into the fabric still balled in his mouth.

"Of course you do." He punched Don again, then threw him to the floor. Don laid with his face pressed onto the cold wood floor, looking up at the man through the corner of his eye, panting through his nose. Again his head was pulled up by his hair. "I want to hear you scream."

Don's eyes grew as a knife was pulled out. The blade slid down the tape, then it was pulled off. The man pulled the fabric out of Don's mouth, and Don gasped for air.

"Fuck…" Don panted, looking up at the man.

There was a knock at the door, then the handle jiggled, making the man look up. "What?"

"Dave, open this door."

"Get out of here, kid!" the man responded.

Don began inching away from the man, Dave, trying to get to a safe spot. Dave looked up and noticed this. "Excuse me!" he hollered at Don, who froze. Dave walked up on Don, who clenched his teeth. "What were you doing, pig?"

"What do you think I was doing, _Dave_?" Don hissed. Dave grinned, then gave Don's side a good, hard kick. Don yelled out, rolling onto his other side and closed his eyes tight. He groaned, writhing in pain. This gave the man satisfaction and encouraged him. Dave brought his foot back and delivered a few good kicks. With each one, Don cringed and screamed out.

Finally the man stopped, watching Don lay in agony on his back, head thrown back and sputtering a few curse words. Dave pushed some blond hair from his eyes, chuckling. He got down, straddled Don's hips, and braced one hand beside his shoulder and grabbed the cop's chin with the other. He forced Don to look him in the eye.

"You're not having any fun, are you?"

"Go to hell."

Dave patted the cop's cheek, then placed his hand on his forehead. Don grimaced. Dave bashed the back of Don's head onto the floor a couple of times, the last one knocking him out. The man stood up and looked at him. Then he snorted and wiped his hands off on his jeans.

----------

"Our victim's name was Carlos Hernandez, twenty-one, five feet seven inches tall, and a hundred and sixty-seven pounds. He had a rap sheet for drug distributing, drug using, grand theft auto… Carlos had just recently gotten out of jail a month ago," Sheldon told Danny, who was ghosting him as he worked on the computer.

"Any acquaintances?" asked Danny, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Not many. He was an orphan, which introduced him to the streets."

Danny shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Drug deal gone bad?"

"Probably. He was found with no wallet or identification. Good thing his prints were in the database."

"Well how does Flack tie in with all this?"

Sheldon sighed. "He doesn't. Probably, if he answered to the scene, he saw the murderer. The person knew this and knew that if Flack got away, he would be exposed."

Irritated, Danny sunk his teeth into his bottom lips and took one hand out of his pocket; he caressed his chin in his hand, his thumb resting on his upper lip. "There's no one who interacted with Carlos except for his customers?" Sheldon shook his head no. "Can we get any of his customers?"

For a moment, Sheldon tapped his fingers on his thighs, thinking. He raised his glasses off of his face and grinned. "I think we got a cell phone in evidence."

As if on cue, Adam walked in holding a phone in his hand. Danny looked up at him, then glanced at the phone. Adam held it out. "Our victim's phone. Just got a text."

Danny took it and glanced down at the screen. Out loud, he read, "'Carlos, I need the stuff. Meet in twenty. Woodland Cemetery. Jerome Avenue gate.'" He looked up and grinned. "Maybe we can talk to this guy." He looked at the name. "This… Michael guy."

----------

There was a man standing at the gate when Mac and Danny arrived. He was a lanky kind of man, tall and nervous. The man was leaning on a post, arms crossed over his chest and waiting. Mac parked the car and got out, followed by Danny, who had a hand on his weapon. They approached the man, who made to movement to get away. Danny spoke first. "Michael?" he asked, and the guy looked up.

"Yeah?"

Mac showed his badge. "We need to talk."

After a moment of hesitation, Michael turned and ran into the cemetery. Danny was first to the chase. He followed Michael around a few headstones until he tripped over one he jumped over. The guy tried to scurry away, but Danny jumped on him, digging his knee into his back and holding his shoulder in place with his arm. Under him, Michael squirmed.

"Michael, we just want to talk," Danny assured.

"Alright, alright! Just get off of me!" Michael yelled. Danny let him up; Michael cursed and got to his feet. Mac was jogging over to them, taking his time.

"So, Michael, what are you doing here?" Danny asked dumbly. The guy wiped his mouth off with the palm of his hand.

"Meeting someone."

"Carlos, perhaps?"

Michael nodded. "Yeah, you know him?"

"He was murdered. Do you know anyone who would want him dead?" Mac asked, looking hard at the guy. Michael shuffled his feet for a moment, then rubbed the back of his head.

"A few weeks ago I was supposed to meet up with him and I got there and all but…" he trailed off for a moment, thinking. "There was this guy there with him. He was bigger than him and had him against a wall."

"Did you hear what they were talking about."

"Not really. I couldn't hear Carlos well, but I caught the other guy say, 'You'll be sorry'. Carlos muttered his name, then was thrown to the ground. The guy saw me watching, so I split."

"What was the name, Michael?" Danny encouraged.

"Jonathan, I think."

Danny glanced at Mac, then turned his attention back to the man. "Did you know that man. Johnny or whatever his name was?"

"I think I met Carlos at his house one. I didn't go inside, but when I got a glimpse inside, I saw some guy that looked like him, standing against a blackboard."

Mac took out a pen and paper. "Do you remember where you met him?" he asked, offering the paper. "Could you write it down?"

Michael looked hesitant, then took the offered pen and paper and began writing. He handed it back after he was finished with a, "I think that's it. If not, somewhere around there."

----------

After Dave left, Don laid very still on the floor, face still pressed into the wood. He was panting and cursing, eyes clenched tight along with his teeth. The tape nor fabric was replaced on his mouth. Behind him, his fingers stretched and spread, trying to see if he could pull them free from the duct tape. It was no use and he laid still again. Don went to sit up, but was stopped when a jolt of pain jolted through his side; he assumed it was a broken rib or two. He yelled out in pain, then locked his jaw again and forced himself to sit up.

Suddenly, he remembered the knife Seth left in his shoe. He was surprised Dave didn't catch it, but he was relieved all the same. Don pulled his feet over so they were parallel with his hips. Slowly he worked his fingers towards the handle of the blade, grabbing it between his first and second fingers on his left hand. He gave a firm jerk with them, freeing the knife from his shoe. It laid on the floor now, and Don grinned. Don's hands reached down and grabbed it, flicking out the blade. He pushed the blade up between his wrists; he winced when he felt a sharp prick of the tip going into his skin.

After a minute or two of sawing at the tape, it broke free and he gave a small cry of joy. He worked his wrists until they sprung apart, and he held them in his lap, rubbing one hand on the wrist of the other. Don looked at the blood forming on his wrist where the blade stuck him; he brought it to his lips and ran his tongue over the blood. For a moment, he grinned.

On the other side of the door, Michael kicked in the door, rubbing his side tenderly with his hand. "Dave!" he yelled. Seth looked up, sneered, then lowered his head back down to stare at the ground. In his hand was a pistol, pointed at the floor. Dave, on the other hand, was laying back on a chair, head thrown back and snoring. Michael growled and approached him, kicking the leg of the chair. Dave jolted awake, pulling a gun out of the front of his pants.

"Woah, Dave, chill," Michael warned, holding his hands up. The man blinked, then lowered the gun.

"What is it, Mike?"

"The cops just jumped me. Asked for Carlos."

Dave leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. The lanky man frowned.

"Did you kill him?"

"Yeah. I did."

Licking his lips, Michael bounced on his feet anxiously. "Well, this was more than just Carlos. What else did you do?"

Seth spoke up. "Kidnapped a pig. He's in the room." He jerked his head to the closed door. Michael gave it a glance, sighing.

"Damn it, Dave! You're so lucky I covered for you. They wanted your name and address."

"And what did you tell them?"

"I gave them the address of a construction site."

Dave sat back up, drumming his fingers on the barrel of his gun. "And the name?"

"'Jonathan.'"

"You did good, Mike." There was a pause, where Michael glanced at the door again. "Leave," Dave ordered.

He faltered for a moment, then turned and walked to the door. He stopped at the door though, and turned to look at Dave again. "I'm done, Dave. This is too much."

Michael left, slamming the door behind him. Dave chuckled, then laughed openly. "Idiot!" He jumped up, grinning like mad, and followed him at a fast pace. The door was thrown open, and Dave took out his gun and exited the building. There was a set of stairs, and a parking lot beneath. Michael was standing by a black car, looking up at him.

With the gun raised, Dave grinned as he looked down the barrel at Michael. "Get in," he hissed with a smirk. Michael, shaken, slowly got in the car. The older man trudged down the stairs, then approached the driver's side of the car. "Slide over."

Michael did as was told, sliding over the arm rest and into the passenger's seat. Dave slid in next, gun still raised level with Michael's eyes. "Let's take a trip, shall we?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Seized  
****Summary: **Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.  
**A/N:** God bless witnesses!

* * *

"Victim's name was Michael Stewart, nineteen, five feet nine inches." Sheldon looked up from the body laying on the ground at Mac, who stood with a hand over his mouth. They were in front of the NYPD 27th division. On the ground laid the man he and Danny had spoken to only an hour ago. "COD was a gunshot wound to the chest. Through and through. Punctured a lung; he bled to death."

"Different than our first man."

"Nothing is missing; he still has his wallet and money. It wasn't a robbery."

Mac, using his hands as he spoke, said, "He knew something. Something that got him killed."

Suddenly, his phone began to ring. Mac took it from his belt loop and looked at the name; it was Stella. He answered, saying 'Taylor' like always.

"_Mac, we're at that address that Michael guy gave us. It's nothing. Just some old construction site. Totally abandoned."_

Mac sighed, pursing his lips.

Stella continued, _"Maybe you should pull Michael in for questioning."_

"Only if he escapes the morgue."

"_What do you mean?"_

"Michael is laying right here, gunshot wound to the chest."

On the other end of the line, Stella gave a deep, aggravated sigh. _"Someone doesn't want him talking."_

"That's what I said."

"_Okay then. I'll talk to you when we get back."_

"Yeah," Mac agreed, then hung up. Sheldon stood now, his fists resting on his hips. Mac looked at him tiredly, pursing his lips and raising his brows. His face read mixed emotions, mostly worry. Sheldon caught the worried look and extended his hand, patting his supervisor on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, Mac. We'll find Flack soon."

"I'm more worried about what kind of state we'll find him in," sighed Mac, turning and walking into the station.

----------

Just as Don began to free his ankles from the tape, the door was kicked in and Dave looked down at him. He saw the knife and that his ands were free. His jaw tightened and eyebrows furrowed. "Well, well, piggy. Where'd you pull that from?" Don said nothing, only looked up at him. Dave advanced towards him, glaring. Something lit in the cop, something he hadn't felt in the longest time. For a moment they only looked at each other, one glaring, one just staring. "Don't you know how to answer a question?"

"My shoe. Surprised someone as _bright_ at you didn't catch it…"

The man gave a false laugh, stepping so his feet were straddling Don's hips. Slowly he bent down, bringing their faces closer. Dave was glaring again. Abruptly his fist came across Don's cheek, knocking him back to the floor, a place Dave liked his victims, Don assumed. But this time, he could fight back. Dave went to kick him; Don grabbed his foot and twisted it, sending him to the floor. The man gasped, the air knocked right out of him. Grinning, Don began to crawl away, going to the knife he had dropped. On the other hand, Dave cursed, grabbing Don's feet and pulling him back. Dave flipped the cop onto his back, then held his hands out to the sides.

"Smart pig!" he raved, placing his knees on the inside of Don's elbows. Furiously, Don squirmed beneath the younger man's hold, feeling suddenly weak and helpless. Dave was enjoying this, beaming, his lips curling back and showing his pointy, animal teeth. "You just couldn't stay away, could you?" he asked. "The boys in blue can smell blood from miles away. I bet a young cop like you could benefit from… being first to a scene." Dave paused, patting Don's cheek. "Right now you probably wish you waited for your… team… before jumping in."

He grasped Don's chin in his hand, turning his head to the side, as if examining the cop. Don gave no protest; he wasn't in the position to protest. "You're too appealing not to have someone at home. You got someone, piggy?" Dave smiled. "Too cute for a girl. Must be gay."

Don was glaring, gritting his teeth together.

"What's his name?" Dave asked, winking.

"I'm not gay," he spat.

"Aw, so you're alone?" He ran his forefinger across Don's cheek. "No one will miss the pig."

Don was breathing shallow breaths. The talk was beginning to get to him, making him insecure. His heart pounded in his chest and he glowered up at the man sitting on his chest. What if no one would miss him at all, like he said? Mac tried once to find him, but that was it. No one else was looking; why bother looking for a liability? Don could feel the tears welling in his eyes.

"Don't cry here, faggot." Dave threw Don's head against the floor. "I'd say to go cry to someone who cares, but I don't think anyone does." He pulled Don's head up by his hair with one hand and began to striking his jaw with a closed fist. As he hit, Dave slowly got off of the cop, then tossed Don to the floor again. "Stay here," he warned. The cop laid still on the floor, huffing for air. Dave left the room, but returned in moments with the pair of handcuffs he took from Don in the first place.

Don watched silently; he was spun onto his side and the cuffs were placed on his wrists. "Let's see you cut your way out of these," Dave raved, laughing. But as he situated the cuffs on Don's wrists, he noticed the prick that was made when Don cut the tape off in the first place. He grinned, grabbing the knife and putting it into the cop's hands.

"Just in case you start to feel suicidal." Pause. "Well, whenever you're ready to end life." He winked, releasing Don and giving a kick in his side for good measure.

He left, leaving Don alone once more. "I new form of torture," Don mused softly, resting his head on the bed.

----------

Danny paced in Mac's office, muttering ideas and plans to find Don. Mac sat back, watching as the blond man panicked. They both knew that time was growing short and that the longer it takes them to find him, the less chance that they'll find him breathing. Danny was getting irritated, voice getting louder and rougher. Mac watched, almost helplessly for once; he had no clue where to begin. Danny turned to Mac. "Is there anything we can do?" he asked softly. "Anywhere we forgot to look? Any evidence we didn't examine? Anything?" He was stammering, but his words were clear.

Mac tapped his fingers on his temple as he looked up at Danny. "I don't think so… Carlos had no acquaintances; his parents died, he had no siblings. Only his buyers spoke with him and even that was scarce."

"How many buyers have you spoken to?"

"Well, Michael was shot, so we can't talk to him anymore. Other than him, we spoke to anyone else who would pick up. Most of them did."

Danny brought over a chair and sat in front of Mac's desk. "You got a list?" he asked. Mac picked up a folder and opened it, looking in quickly. After a moment of rifling, he took out a piece of paper and handed it to Danny. Danny peered down at it.

"Two people," Mac said. "Dave and Seth."

"And you haven't gotten in contact with these two?"

"They never picked up, there's no extra contact information programmed into Carlos' phone…"

Danny pursed his lips for a split second. "Call them on your phone?" Mac nodded at Danny, who tapped his finger on the desk. "I'll try mine."

He took out his phone and flipped it open. He chose Dave since it was the first on the list. After three rings, he got an automated voicemail. Danny sneered and ended the line. Then, he dialed the one for Seth and waited. This time, he got through.

"_Hello?" _The voice was young. Danny grinned at Mac, who rose his brows and leaned slightly over. He put it on speaker phone.

"Is this Seth?"

"_Yeah. Who is this?"_

"Yes, this is Detective Messer; I'm calling to ask about your relationship with Carlos Hernandez…"

There was a pause, the boy hadn't hug up; Danny could hear his breathing. _"You've got the wrong number…" _And the line cut off.

Both of the men sighed as Danny closed his phone. "Closer," Mac said. "There wouldn't have been a pause… if he really didn't know what we were talking about."

"I know." He offered a toothy grin. "I can feel it, Mac. We just about got him."

Stella knocked on the door, then walked in. She was smiling, hands placed on her hips. Mac and Danny looked at her; she licked her lips and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "We got a witness."

There was a woman sitting in a chair in the hallway; she had her fingers laced together in her lap and her dark hair fell in front of her eyes. Danny approached her, fists in his pockets. Stella was following him closely behind. "Ms. Robinson, I'm Detective Messer, this is Detective Bonasera. We hear you have a little information for us about Carlos Hernandez."

The woman looked up; she was in her forties, the age showing around her eyes and mouth. But she gave a smile and stood up. "Yes, I do."

"Mind if we step into this room?" Stella asked, opening a door. The woman nodded, grabbing her purse, and walked in. Danny followed her; Stella closed the door behind her.

The woman sat at the table and placed her purse in her lap. Danny and Stella took seats across from her. Stella smiled warmly at her. "Could you tell us what you know, Ms. Robinson?"

"My name is Kareen." She smiled. "I have work near where you found the body. I didn't know him or anything like that. But I was walking to my office and glanced down the alleyway. There was one boy, probably in his twenties, yelling at the man you call Carlos. He was roughing Carlos up a little, pushing him against the wall and yelling in his face." She drummed her fingers on the table in front of her. "Once the weapons were drawn, I got myself out of there."

"Weapons?" Danny asked.

Kareen twirled her finger, and her face searched for the right words. "You know for community service how some people have to pick up trash? You see it in the movies all the time."

"Yes."

"That… trash poker thing. Long, brown handle and a sharp point at the end. The man had the poker the whole time, and he was still dressed in a bright, yellow vest."

"Is there anything else you remember about this man?" pressed Danny.

"Well, he was about the same height as Carlos. Slightly better build, good looking, bright hair."

Stella remembered what Sid said the murder weapon had to be something with 'a long, sharp aluminum tip'. She smiled up at the woman. "Thank you, Kareen."

Kareen smiled, got to her feet and left. Stella and Danny met eyes. After a moment, Stella also stood and looked down at Danny. "Go tell Lindsay to get me a list of all men assigned community service for drug use. Tell her to pick out all the men with light hair, between five feet seven and six feet two."

Danny grinned. "Of course. Happily."


	5. Chapter 5

**Seized  
****Summary: **Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.  
**A/N: **I don't know how to trace a call, so I tried my best to describe without actually… describing… if that makes sense… And I always try to get in a post every two days, but this was a little late 'cause I don't have internet at my dad's house.

* * *

The honed edge of the blade was pressed against his wrist, against a vein, giving him a sharp pain that ran through his arm. It wasn't enough pressure to break skin, but almost. With a flick of his wrist, it would dig deep and draw blood. But he didn't press any harder, just kept it there with his eyes closed and his breathing uneven. The room was totally silent. His heart was pounding a tattoo in his chest. He was scared.

_No. _Don dropped the knife to the floor. _If I give in, he wins. We cannot let him win._ He remained still, looking at the ceiling with his jaw locked. Still his heart pounded, and no matter how deeply he took in breaths, it wouldn't slow.

Suddenly, he began to thrash, screaming out and kicking his legs. He slipped to the floor and continued thrashing, trying desperately to free himself. Don stopped, chest heaving, and tried pulling his feet apart. There was no avail, so he pulled harder, grunting. Still no luck. He threw his head back and screamed again, yelling at the top of his lungs and lashing his body around again. After moments of doing this, he stopped once more, gasping for air.

"Damn…" he gasped out. He lay on the floor thinking, raking his mind for any chance of escape. He wiggled his hips for a moment, trying to keep the weight from his hands. Then it came to him.

Don looked to the side at the knife; he moved his way across the floor to reach it. His finger tips grasped it and he laughed. Slowly he lifted his hips from the ground and moved his hands under. They reached his waist, reached his belt. He slid the knife between his pants and his belt, then sawed at the leather. It began to give away, making him cry out in accomplishment. Finally it broke and he tossed the knife to the side.

With his pants much looser, they were a size or two too big, Don wiggled his hips again, feeling the pants slip from them. He stopped to kick off his shoes; he kicked them over with the knife. Grinning, he finished slipping his pants from his hips, then twisted around, moving his body and sliding his pants down his thighs. Once they were below the knees, Don moved his feet and kicked his pants off. With the pants went the tape binding his feet together.

"Yes," he murmured, laughing. Again he lifted his hips, moving his wrists under them, trying to pull his hands from behind his back. It took a few moments of working, but soon he had his hands laying on his stomach.

----------

"From your specifications," Lindsay began, looking up at Stella, "we have five men." She handed Stella the piece of paper. Stella grabbed it with her free hand; in her other hand was Carlos' cell phone, opened to the contact list. She took a moment to scan the sheet, then the contact list. One name stuck out on both.

"David McDowell," Stella said. "Community service for drug use. Picking up trash on the freeway. Residence near the murder site." She grinned at Lindsay. "There is a 'Dave' in the phone. How much do you want to bet this is our guy?"

"Who's our guy?" called a voice. Stella turned and gave a smile at the man.

"David McDowell." She handed him the sheet.

Mac took the sheet and gave it a glance. "Do we have motive? Can we place him at the scene?"

Stella shook her head. "But we have a witness who said she saw a man who fit his description hassling our victim moments before his death."

"That's not enough," Mac said tiredly. "The court will never issue us anything to find him out. The Dave in the phone won't answer Danny's or my calls."

"Did you get through to anyone on the phone?" asked Lindsay.

"Only one. Seth."

Lindsay held her hand out for the phone, which Stella still held. "Let me see the number." Stella handed her the phone. Lindsay took it, finding 'Seth' and looking at the number. With her phone out, she dialed the number and held it to her ear. On the third ring, he answered. Quickly, she covered the phone and mouthed for someone to trace the call.

"_Hello?"_

"Yes, this is Detective Monroe, NYPD. Is this Seth?"

After a brief pause, he shakily said, _"Yes."_

"I understand another of our detectives has contacted you before."

There was the sounds of Seth moving around, probably going to another area. While he did this, Lindsay put him on speaker phone. Once the sounds stopped, he said, _"I'm sorry about that. I'm just… scared."_

"Why are you scared?"

"_Dave. He kidnapped a cop and now… I don't know what to do."_ His voice was panicked.

"'Dave'?"

"_David McDowell."_

"Seth, where are you?" Lindsay prodded. "We can help."

With that, Seth hung up. Lindsay did the same, looking up at Mac and Stella. "Did you get him?" she asked hopefully. Mac gave a small smile.

"We have an idea of where he is. Uptown Queens."

----------

No time after Mac told the rest of his team the area where they thought Don Flack was being held, most of the NYPD was surrounding the area. Danny was paired with Sheldon and the two were knocking on doors searching. So far there were no leads to jump on; no one knew the man or had any idea what they were talking about. They kept at it, though.

Finally they came upon a building where the door was raised and a pair of stairs led up to it from a parking lot. There were tire marks as if someone was running from something, or being chased. Sheldon and Danny met eyes, then both drew their weapons. Danny was first up the stairs with Sheldon on his heels. He rapped his fist on the door, calling a, "NYPD, open up!" They waited, getting no answer. Danny grabbed the handle and turned it; it gave easily under his grasp and freed the door. Slowly he pushed his head in, giving it a glance.

It was an empty room, clear of anything. No evidence of any 'foul play' that recently went on. Danny walked in, looking around, with Sheldon right behind. While Danny looked around the main room, Sheldon opened a door that was on the right hand side. After a short look inside, he turned his head to yell over his shoulder. "Danny, come look at this."

The blond walked over and peered over his shoulder. The corners of his mouth turned downward, frowning. Inside the room were around fifty pots, scattered under fluorescent lights, and what looked like marijuana growing out of them. When the doctor approached them, he nodded as if in agreement. "Marijuana."

"And still no Flack."

Sheldon pressed his finger tips onto the soil of one plant. "Haven't been watered in a few days. I'd say the last time they were watered was before we found Carlos' body."

"So this might just belong to Carlos."

Danny scanned his eyes around the small room until his eyes caught something on the corner table. He walked towards it, pulling a glove out as he did. He used the glove as a barrier between his hand and the object. It was a wallet. Danny opened it and glimpsed at the interior.

"Found a wallet. It belonged to Carlos Hernandez."

----------

Dave walked in the room where he held the cop, wanting to give him another beating, wanting to unleash some anger. But as he entered the room and looked for his play toy, he was missing. There were a pair of pants laying in the middle of the floor, the knife beside the pants. For a moment he was puzzled. Abruptly, someone jumped onto his back, pulling him to the floor. Dave gasped when he hit the floor. He knew it was the cop.

Don chuckled, digging his knee into the man's lower back and pressing his elbow onto his shoulder blades. "There's no way I'd ever let you win," he hissed. For a moment, Dave made no effort to get free.

"You really are smart, aren't you? No wonder you're a pig."

Don gritted his teeth, pressing down his knee; Dave yelped in pain. "I'm tired of your 'pig' talk."

Then, Dave began to laugh; it wasn't a fake laugh, but a laugh like someone had told a joke. "I overpowered you once, I can do it again." With that, he pushed off of the floor, sending Don backwards. Dave got up, sneering. He brought his foot back, bringing it into Don's side. The cop cried out, rolling onto his other side and beginning to scurry away. The man grinned, lurched himself onto Don, and held him down. "Wimpy man," he taunted.

For a moment, Don laid still, staring into the eyes of the man holding him down. He remained calm, thinking of ways out. His hands were pressed between his and the other man's stomach. So he turned his hands, pressing the tips of his fingers onto Dave's stomach and pushed, digging his nails into him. Dave yelped, lessening his hold and allowing Don to push him off.

Don flipped onto his stomach and worked his way towards the knife. Dave grabbed his ankles, but he kicked furiously and reached out to the knife. Just as the man began to pull him back, his hands grasped the knife. Dave turned him onto to his back again and clambered onto him. But as he held Don down, he felt a sharp pain and paused, looking into Don's eyes.

"You will never win," Don told him, pushing him off. Dave held a hand onto his stomach, gasping for air and coughing. The blade of the knife was dark with blood to the hilt.

Once he caught his breath, Don worked his way to his feet and headed for the door, dropping the knife on the floor. He held his hands to the knob of the door, turning it and pushing the door open. Just outside the door was a chair where Seth was sleeping. He approached the chair, then gave it a kick. Seth jolted awake, looking around until he saw Don. His eyes grew and he shied from him.

"Seth, give me a phone," Don ordered. "And find the key to these cuffs."

Seth handed over his phone without a second thought, then jumped up to look for the key. Don flipped it open, then dialed the police department. It went right through.

"Hello, my name is Detective Don Flack and we need an ambulance at…" He paused and looked at Seth. He mouthed, Where are we, at him. Seth gave him the address, and Don repeated it into the phone. After he got a reply, he ended the call. He waited a moment, then dialed Mac's number and waited, holding it to his ear with both hands.

"_Seth, is that you?" _Mac answered.

"Try again," Don retorted.

"_Don? Where are you?"_

Before Don could repeat the address again, there was a gunshot and Don fell to the floor. The phone slid across the floor, Mac's voice getting weaker and less audible. When Don turned his head behind him, Dave was holding a revolver out and smirking. Seth's eyes grew massively, backing up into the wall and staring down at the two, bleeding men. As he hit the wall with his back, he felt and remembered his pistol in the back of his jeans. For a moment he just stood there, staring from Don to Dave.

Dave, groaning and laughing at the same time, began inching his way towards the doorframe and Don, who had passed out. "Seth… get me some help."

Seth made no move.

"Seth… help me!" screamed Dave, then he stopped and coughed some blood on the floor.

Seth moved his hands behind his back, touching the pistol.

"Seth!"

Slowly Seth took the pistol out and held it, aiming for Dave's head. Dave froze and stared unbelievingly at the kid. "I'm done too, David."


	6. Chapter 6

**Seized  
****Summary: **Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.  
**A/N:** I was about to end it here, but I felt this had potential to go a bit further. And apologies for the delay; I've been... swarmed with school and such. Hope this makes up for it.

* * *

It took no time for Mac and his team to arrive at the scene after getting filled in on Don's whereabouts. The police were already there, an ambulance blaring and the policemen taping off the scene. Mac and Danny were standing beside each other outside the tape, looking anxiously at the door. Stella, Lindsay, and Sheldon looked at them from behind, not knowing what to do. Finally neither of the two men could take just watching and both ducked under the tape almost simultaneously. They ran up the stairs and into the room.

On the floor were two bodies; one was a blond man, younger than Don, and the other was a young boy. One had a bullet hole to the forehead, and the other had a bullet hole under his chin and on the top of his head. Danny and Mac exchanged looks. After clearing his throat, Mac gestured to the blond man. "David McDowell." He looked at the younger boy. "That one must be Seth."

Danny's eyes were scanning the whole room. "Where's Don?"

"There's a third blood pool between the two bodies." Mac looked at Danny, who was frowning.

"And there's a… smear, like who ever was there was trying to get away."

As an EMS personnel, nametag Carl, walked past, Mac tapped him. "How many bodies did you find?"

The man looked back. "Just two."

"And the third blood pool?" Danny asked.

"We were behind another ambulance. I guess the first one grabbed the first body. Probably still alive since they rushed out."

Danny gave a sigh of relief, then remembered the pool of blood on the floor and felt his stomach turn. If Don was alive, he would be in bad shape. He looked hopefully at Mac, who gave a false smile. Carl walked off, passing Stella on her way in. She approached Mac and Danny. "We have to process the scene, Danny," she informed him. She was holding two cases, giving one to Danny. "Mac, you have to go to the hospital and check on Flack."

"What?" Danny said unbelievingly. "Are you serious?" Eyes wide, he turned his attention to Mac. "I'm not staying here, Mac."

"Yes you are. Now you stay here and process this scene. Cool down. I'll make sure Don is alright."

"But Mac…"

"Don't worry, Danny."

----------

"A coma?" Mac stared at the doctor standing in front of him, then turned his eyes to look through the window separating him and Don. Don just laid there, motionless and pale, hooked to a machine to keep him breathing. The blankets were rolled to his waist, revealing many dark bruises over his upper half, a few shallow cuts, the beginning of a black eye, and a through-and-through gunshot wound. Mac wasn't dumb; he knew there was a broken rib or two, and that if he was awake, he would be in agony. He turned back to the doctor. "How long do you suppose he'll be in the coma?"

"We don't know, Detective Taylor. He can hear you, though, if you want to go in a talk to him."

After a moment, he nodded. "Yes. I think I will."

The doctor smiled and turned away from him to a nurse who was approaching them. Mac took one last look through the window before walking into the room. He eased the door shut behind him, taking a fold out chair and setting it beside Don. Being closer made Mac even more aware of his condition. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Don. It's Mac." He paused, hoping to god that Don would give some form of response. There was none, just his heavy breathing and the beeping of the heart monitor. "I… I'm sorry we didn't find you earlier." Mac pursed his lips. "Danny wanted to come in instead. He got fired up at the scene."

Again he stopped, staring into his friend's face. "We all were working around the clock to find you. I know how it feels to be alone like that." His eyes fell to Don's hand. On his wrist, he saw the small prick the blade made. "You want to end life when you're in a position like that, and I'm sure the man who took you also influenced that. Probably said something like, 'They don't care' or 'They're not looking.' But I assure you, we tried our best."

Slowly Mac moved his hand to the bed, laying it atop Don's, gripping it. He could feel the heat coming through Don's hand to his own.

"You're strong, Don. Real strong. You fought hard." Mac stood, looking down at Don. He let go of his hand after a moment. "I have to go, but I'll be back later. I'll get Danny and the others to pay a visit." As he spoke to him, he pushed back some of Don's hair lovingly. After a beat, Mac withdrew his hand and walked out.

Once he was out of the room, Mac took out his phone and dialed Stella's number. She picked up after the first ring. _"Stella."_

"It's me."

"_How's Flack?"_

Mac sat down on a bench situated outside the room. "Bad." He paused. "He's in a coma."

Stella was quiet. _"A coma?" _she asked in an unbelieving voice. In the background, Mac heard Danny talking, but couldn't make out the words. Stella spoke again. _"How long do they think…?"_

"They don't know. Right now I think it's the best for him. He's not in the best shape."

"_I agree."_

"How is everything over there?"

"_We won't know exactly what happened until Don wakes up. Right now we know Seth's last name from his wallet in his back pocket; Lee. Considering where the bullet wounds were, we think Seth shot David, then himself. There's a bullet missing from David's gun that Danny found in the wall behind Seth, covered in blood."_

"Don had a bullet wound, a through-and-through. That might be the bullet."

"_Most likely. We need to get back to work over here."_

"I'm going back to the lab to talk to Lindsay and Sheldon."

"_Okay. We'll talk later."_

With those words, she hung up. Mac did the same, returning his phone to his belt loop. For a moment, Mac sat on the bench and stared at the wall. Then he stood up, gave another look through the window at Don, then walked off, heading for the exit.

----------

"Are you serious?" Sheldon asked, hands in his pockets. Mac nodded silently. "So he was shot, after being tortured horribly, and was put into a coma?"

Lindsay bit her lip, standing beside Sheldon. "It's almost unreal," she said. "I can't believe… something like this could happen to one of us." Mac noticed she was on the verge of tears. He grasped her shoulder, giving it an encouraging squeeze. She forced a smile up at him. "But he's… not in pain right now, right?"

"I doubt he's can feel pain right now, Montana."

Lindsay smiled at the use of her pet name.

"Stella and Danny should be back in a few hours, or less. We can talk more when they come back, when everyone is around." There was a pause between them. "Okay?"

Sheldon gave a small 'yes', followed by Lindsay who nodded. Then she asked, "Are we allowed to go see him?"

"I'd say so, but I'd like for all of us to see him. Together." He paused for a moment. "Right now our first priority is to process the scene and find out what exactly happened. We don't know when Don will wake up, so it's best we work for his sake."

Lindsay, understanding what her superior was saying, nodded and gave a small smile. "Okay." She looked at Sheldon, who had the same agreement laying on his face. Again, she repeated, "Okay." The blonde turned and walked off. Both men took a moment to watch after her.

Mac looked at Sheldon, who frowned. "How long?" he asked Mac. "How long do they think he'll be in the coma?"

"They didn't know."

The former ME understood and gave a curt nod. "Alright." There was a pause. "Has anyone contacted his parents about all this?" he asked. "About his kidnapping, for one, or his coma?"

Mac sighed. "I was sort of avoiding that little road block."

Sheldon gave a forced smile. "I'd think that you could avoid the kidnapping portion of that until his parents actually ask how their son was put into a coma."

"I might just do that." Mac almost sneered, turning from Sheldon to go to his office. Sheldon chuckled at Mac, also turning to walk off.

When Mac arrived at his office, shutting the door and strolling to his chair. He sat down, rubbing his fingers on his temples. He had a headache and it was throbbing badly. His eyes were fixed on the phone sitting on his desk. For a moment he simply stared at it, then lifted his hand and laid it on the phone. Mac lifted it and dialed the number. On the first ring, a woman picked it up.

"_Hello?" _she asked.

Mac waited a moment. "Yes, this is Detective Mac Taylor from the New York crime lab."

"_Oh, yes."_

"Is this Mrs. Flack?"

She was hesitant. _"Yes. How may I help you?" _Pause. _"Is this about Donald?"_

"I'm afraid it is. Your son has been put into a coma. The doctors don't know when he'll wake up…"

Mrs. Flack was quiet. Her breathing was heavy. _"A coma?"_

"Yes, ma'am."

"_What happened?"_

Mac cleared his throat. "Um, I would like for us to talk in person."

"_Alright. I'll be over as soon as I can get off of work."_

"Thank you."

Mrs. Flack hung up before Mac did, as if rushed. Mac sighed and hung up also, placing his chin in his hand.

----------

After processing the scene with Stella, Danny went to the hospital to visit his friend. Stella told him to go ahead and go, so he went in a heartbeat. He was led to the room, and stood where Mac had stood just hours before, looking through the same window he had, and viewing the same sight. Don was still in deep sleep, badly bruised and cut, face beginning to grow a purple color and puffing up, the black eye coming in fully. The bullet wound had either stopped bleeding, or the dressing was recently replaced.

The doctor was speaking at him, telling him he could go in a talk to Don. Danny zoned him out, pressing his hand on the windowsill in front of him. Soon, when he noticed he was getting no reaction, the doctor left swiftly. Danny, after letting out a held breath, walked into the room.

Up close the sight was more horrific. He noticed how the bruises lined his stomach and sides, up his chest and neck, across his face in deep purple-green patches, down his arms. There were two cuts on his cheek, glue residue from tape was barely visible, both on his face and wrists. Danny sat in a chair, staring into Don's sleeping face. The blond man was almost silent except for his breathing.

Finally, he bit his lip and laid his hand across Don's upper arm. He couldn't, wouldn't, speak at Don knowing he wouldn't get a reaction or reply. He only sat with wide eyes and a hand on his arm, sniffling. Danny sat still for some time. When he looked back at the window, the rest of the CSI team was standing at the window looking in. From left to right were Mac, Sid, Stella, Lindsay, Sheldon, and Adam. All had solemn looks lining their faces. Danny was a little surprised to see Sid and Adam there, since they hardly interacted with Don, but glad nonetheless.

Behind the window, Lindsay had begun to cry, holding a small hand to her mouth and clenching her eyes tight. Stella took notice and led her from the window. Danny stood up and walked to the door, opening it and walking through.

Adam looked worried. "How is he?" he asked dumbly. He knew how he was.

"Horrible. I'm just… glad he's asleep and not awake. That would be agony to sit through." He removed his glasses, wiping them on the hem of his shirt; they were beginning to fog up.

Sid said nothing, merely looked through the window at the cop. He nodded, understanding. Sheldon knew the same thing, considering they were both educated in the medical field.

After replacing his glasses, he said quietly, "Anyone can go in and see."

None of the men made a move. Danny knew none of them could go in and see him in that condition. Adam turned away and walked to where Stella had led Lindsay. Sheldon and Sid looked at one another, then at Mac. Both also strode off, leaving Danny and Mac alone.

Mac, staring through the window again, said, "Worse, isn't he?"

Danny nodded, the lump in his throat growing.

"I can tell," Mac said. "I don't think he'll ever be the same after he wakes up."

"Nah…" agreed Danny, who had sunk to the bench under the window. Mac joined him.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I hope so."

Mac examined Danny's facial expression. "We did all we could, Danny. It's not your fault."

The younger man bit his lip. "Okay," he forced. "Okay."


	7. Chapter 7

**Seized  
****Summary: **Don Flack is first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.

* * *

Mrs. Flack stood emotionless staring through the window separating her son and herself. Her face remained still, eyes narrow and lips pursed. She watched as her son breathed easily, the monitor he was hooked to beeping periodically, normally. The woman closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up at Mac, who was standing at her side. "How?"

Mac pursed his lips for a split second. "A couple of nights ago we received a call for a body in downtown Queens. Your son was first to arrive at the scene. Most he did was get out of his car and took a look at the body before being dragged off into the alley; at least, that's what the evidence told us." He stopped for a moment. "When we arrived, we found his car, with a cup of hot coffee sitting in the cup holder, and some evidence of him being dragged out, being knocked out, and being taken."

Mrs. Flack frowned. "And no one told me?"

"I had… assigned someone to call; I suppose no one got through or didn't leave a message…" Mac lied carefully. He never wanted to contact the woman; he hoped in his mind that they would of found Don safe and sound before anything like this happened. But he was wrong and made a mistake.

Mrs. Flack, however, nodded in understanding. "Go on."

Mac cleared his throat. "My team and I worked endlessly to find your son, Mrs. Flack." She showed no emotion. "Judging by the bruising on his body and condition he's in, he fought hard, but was… thoroughly tortured." His voice cracked on the word 'tortured'. Mrs. Flack nodded.

"I could tell. And Don can't feel anything right now? No pain?"

"No, ma'am."

She gave a small smile. "That's good to hear. He's alive, breathing with no problem, his heart is functioning fine, and he is in no pain." She looked back at the window. "That's good." By the tone of her voice, Mac figured she knew that her son was going to be okay; he figured that was why she wasn't too worried. Like her son, Mrs. Flack was a strong person.

----------

The days turned to weeks, the CSI team grew tired of waiting for Don to pull through. They had, however, solved the case with David McDowell and Seth Lee; after the deaths of Seth's parents, the only living relative was a distant cousin, Dave, who became guardian. Ever since Seth had moved in, Dave had abused physically and mentally until he turned from Seth and onto drugs. Once the drugs had him, there was no stopping him.

Carlos Hernandez just provided and ended up in a body bag before his time. He owned the small apartment where the marijuana plants were found, and some of the marijuana was found in David's apartment, connecting the two for sure. Michael Stewart was the one who introduced David and Carlos, and assisted in the kidnapping of Don Flack; he drove the car, where they found his blood in the driver's side of the car, connecting him to the crime. The angle of the wound through David's head was consistent if Seth was standing from where they found his body. The angle of the wound under Seth's chin was consistent with him bringing the gun up and shooting himself. After a comparison, they found the bullets were both from Seth's gun.

Mac closed the case on a bad note, wishing all those deaths never occurred or any of the violence for that manner. He still waited for Flack to recover anxiously.

Soon, almost a month from the day Mac spoke at Don, he got a call from the hospital.

"Hello?" he asked hopefully.

"_Mr. Taylor, Donald Flack is awake."_

"Thank you. How is he?"

"_He's asking for you, mostly. His father a little, I think his mother. A man named Danny."_

Mac smiled to himself, but frowned when he asked the next question. "Does he seem in… pain?"

"_Most likely. That bullet nearly killed him. Someone should come down here and talk him into taking it easy; he's been very animated today."_

"Thank you, Doctor."

There was a grunt, with a small 'goodbye' from the doctor before he hung up. Mac placed the phone on the receiver, staring at the table. After a moment of contemplating, he stood, took his coat from the back of his chair, and walked towards his door. On his way out, he saw Danny walking towards his direction. Mac smiled at him, brows raised.

"Don is awake," he blurted before Danny could say anything. Danny's eyes grew slightly, then he also grinned.

"Finally!" Danny nearly shouted.

"You can go put those files on my desk; we have to go see Don."

The blond man beamed a toothy smile and raced to Mac's office. A moment after, he returned to where Mac still stood. Both men walked at a fast pace down the hallway.

----------

Don gritted his teeth together, rubbing a hand on his left side where he had three broken ribs, then moving the hand to the other side where only one was broken. His chest gave a sharp pain each time he took a breath in. The dark-haired man had his eyes closed as he tenderly rubbed a finger over the patch covering the still healing bullet wound. He cursed softly, laying his head heavily on the pillow.

He didn't notice the door opening and the two men entering. After a moment, though, he opened his eyes to see Mac and Danny standing around his bed, looking hopefully down at him. When he realized who it was, a smile covered his lips. "Hey, guys," he offered, then stopped and laid his hand on his chest, sighing heavily.

"Easy," Danny ordered, taking a seat in a white chair. Mac pulled another over and took it for himself. Don looked from one to the other, still a smile on his face.

"Doc says I've been out for… a month?" he asked. Mac nodded.

"Coma."

"Bad thing was that I could hear what everyone was saying, like I was stuck in that area between sleep and awake." His eyes met Mac's for a split second. "But I couldn't respond."

"We're just glad you're awake." Danny smiled. "Everyone at the crime lab came down during the month. Even Sid and Adam."

Don smiled. "Makes a man feel good hearing that people care for him." He leaned into the pillow. In the brief silence Danny's phone rang out, and he answered it quickly with a hello.

"_Danny, where are you?" _It was Sheldon.

"Hospital, talking to Don."

There was silence on the other line, then, _"He's awake?"_

"Yeah."

Don grinned; he would shout a hello, but his chest still smarted. Sheldon continued, _"Well, we have work to do. We can go visit Don later, afterwards, okay?"_

Danny gave a whine of protest, but agreed. He hung up, stood, and looked down at Don. "Hawkes summons me. Mac, you'll stay here, right?" he asked.

Mac nodded. "Yeah, I'll stay."

After a moment, Danny leaned forward and patted Don softly on the shoulder, gave a wink, then retreated out the door. There was a pause of silence between Mac and Don, who met eyes for a moment. Don attempted to sit more straight, but it only gave a jolt of pain running through his entire body. The man gave a small cry of agony and sunk back to his earlier position. Mac switched chairs, moving closer to Don. "Don't move around. You're still healing."

Don was grinning a little to himself. "You sound like a mother."

The comment made Mac smile too. "Just a concerned collea…" Mac stopped himself, lacing his hands in his lap. "Just a concerned friend."

The younger man stopped for a moment, his smile lowering and his eyes fixed on Mac. He bit the inside of his mouth for a moment. "When I was… out… I noticed you were the first one to visit." Don shrugged his shoulders. "I heard what you said when you visited too."

Mac rose his brows. "The doctors said you would."

"Told me the whole team was doing everything to find me." His eyes were beginning to well up, and his voice was starting to shake. "I was about to end it all…" he whispered. "I had the blade against my wrist, but I just couldn't press hard enough. That… guy got into my head and…" He stopped for a second. "He told me that none of the team was looking; told me that no one wanted a liability and I listened to him." By that time, tears were rolling down his cheeks; Don turned his gaze from Mac and focused on the wall. "I-I'm not strong, Mac. I was scared… I fought because I didn't want to d-die there… And now I'm crying like some kid…" One of his hands was covering his face now and sobs were racking him. Don was quivering while the tears rolled in streams.

On the other hand, Mac had stood and sat on the edge of the hospital bed beside Don, who still wouldn't look at him. Mac slowly put his arms around the crying man and pulled him close, holding him there with a firm grip. He could feel Don continue to quiver, and holding him was only making him shake more. For a while they sat there, Mac only holding him put. Don finally put his arms around Mac's waist and buried his face into the crook of his neck, fully letting the tears out. The cries were silent, only tears without noise escaping his mouth. The older man held a hand to the back of Don's head and rubbed his back in small circles.

When Don stopped crying, he didn't pull back; he stayed holding onto Mac, balling the back of his shirt into his fists and gaining a firmer grip. Mac rested his chin on the top of Don's head and pulled both arms around his shoulders.

"I'm sorry…" Don murmured, but kept his head in place.

Mac turned so his cheek was resting on the top of Don's head. "Don't worry about it."

Gradually the younger man pulled from Mac, releasing his grip on the back of his shirt and sitting up. The top of Mac's shirt was damp; his brushed at it unconsciously and smiled. "You probably feel a little better now, right?"

Don nodded, wiping his eyes with the base of his palm. He forced a smile. "I only wish I could of done that without embarrassing myself," he added.

"You haven't embarrassed yourself; we're the only two here," Mac ensured. "And it's good that you haven't forgotten anything; most coma victims loose some short term memory."

"The names aren't clear. But I'd rather have forgotten some of the actions than remember all of it," griped Don, leaning back into the pillow. Mac moved back to the plastic chair, allowing Don to stretch out more. The younger cop rubbed his chest tenderly as he moved down. "So the others came by?" he asked, veering off subject.

Mac gave a small nod. "When Lindsay first came, she couldn't bear to look at you in your condition. She ended up walking off with tears in her eyes."

"Now you're making me feel bad."

"Don't worry; she eventually came in."

Don grew silent for a little while, sat back and listened to the heart monitor and his own breathing. Then he turned back to face Mac with a question in his eyes. "What happened to that kid?" he asked, knowing that if Mac processed the scene, he would of met the kid. But when he saw the look in Mac's eyes, he knew something was wrong. "What happened to him, Mac?"

The ex-marine pursed his lips and tapped his forefinger on his upper thigh. "Seth was the one who saved you," he began. "David would of shot you again if he didn't do what he did."

"Mac…?"

"Seth shot David dead on the floor behind where the EMS personnel found you."

"What happened to him?"

Mac sighed deeply. "After shooting David, Seth turned the gun around, placed the barrel under his chin, and fired."

A small gasp escaped Don's lips, and he narrowed his brows together. "He shot himself?"

Mac nodded. "But he saved your life, Don."

"Did I miss his… funeral?"

"Unfortunately, you did. But you can still go visit his grave if you want," Mac told him. Don looked down at his hand on the bed, tapping the tips of his fingers on the bed. He bit his bottom lip lightly, then gave a soft moan and slapped his hand down.

"When can I get out?"

"Doctor said in a week or so, to allow time for you to heal." Mac grinned. "But you need to take it easy. The main reason the doctor called us down here was because you were animated and you needed to calm down."

"I'd say I'm pretty… tranquil at this moment." Don laughed lightly.

"Yes, right now you are." He paused to look at his watch. "Everyone has work to do, even me, so I'd have to get out of here soon. I'll ask if we can bring you in some food instead of this _horrible_ hospital food they serve here."

"I would appreciate that a whole lot."

Mac stood, wiping off the seat of his pants. Then he moved forward, grabbing Don into a quick embrace. "Someone will be back soon," he told him. "Get rest, okay?"

Don nodded into Mac's chest, since that was where his head was currently situated. They broke, then Mac walked towards the door. Don watched him leave, then laid back into the pillow once he was gone with a sigh.


	8. Chapter 8

**Seized  
****Summary: **Don Flack is the first to a murder scene and awaits the NYPD to join him. But as he waits, someone grabs him.  
**A/N: **I couldn't think of a way to end this, so I ended it off with a cute little scene.

* * *

After a few weeks of recovery, Don Flack could breath and move normally without pain jolting through him, excluding his ribs which gave a small pain or two throughout the day. He found out he had fractured, almost broken, three bones in his left arm: the ulna, the humerus, and the radius. All were fractured in a few separate places and he had to wear it in a sling for the rest of this month and the next. He still couldn't see completely through his right eye. Mac had come by and picked him up from the hospital.

Don laid on his couch, given time off from work to continue to recover. Since he got his injuries on the job, it's all paid. The television was on mute; the news was on and was _still_ talking about how he was kidnapped and such. He was tired of listening to it over and over. All he wanted to do was forget it. After a second of holding the remote, he lifted it and turned the television off. He turned so his front was pressed against the back of the couch and he buried his face into the cushion. Soon, he fell asleep.

He was woken by someone shaking his arm roughly. The person spoke in a panicked voice. Don groaned and turned his head to look at the person. Danny gave a sigh of relief and stopped shaking him. "What?" Don asked, narrowing his brows together.

"Nothing…" Danny said. "Just… I walked in and you had your face pressed into the couch, and you weren't moving…"

Don smiled. "Why were you so worried? You know better."

"Yeah…" Danny smiled, walking around the couch, and sat on the edge of the table. He held up two brown bags. "Brought Chinese food, if you're interested."

Don looked up at the clock on the wall, then back. "Yeah, I'm interested."

The blond handed him one bag, which Don took and sat up, grunting. He began opening the bag and looked up at Danny. "What's going on at the lab?"

"Not much, truthfully. You aren't missing anything drastic." The blond man grinned, setting his food on the table beside him. He took out the chopsticks from the bottom of the bag and began fiddling with them. Finally he got to a point where he could pick up food and grinned. "Are you doing anything today, or just deciding on laying low?"

Don scooped a bite of rice into his mouth. "There was something I planned on doing later."

"What?"

"Got to go visit a grave," he said with a small frown edging his lips.

Danny wore a confused expression on his face. "Who?"

"One of the kids who kidnapped me." He took another bite.

"Are you serious?" the blond asked, unbelieving.

Don nodded. "Yeah." He didn't say anymore. He didn't need to explain his actions. Danny looked at him for a while, then turned his attention back to working with the chopsticks.

----------

Mac pulled up at the Jerome Avenue gate of the Woodland Cemetery, where he and Danny had met Michael a month ago. Don was in the passengers seat, banned from driving for another few weeks due to his arm and eye. Mac pulled to the side of the road in front of the entrance, parking. He gave a light sigh. "You sure you want to do this?"

Don nodded, holding onto the bouquet of flowers in his lap, turning his head to look out his window. He could feel Mac's eyes on him, but didn't move. Soon Mac placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "Let's go."

Still not looking at him, Don exited the car, shutting the door lightly, and stood awkwardly at the side of the car. Mac was on the other side, looking forward and placing his fists inside his pockets. "We don't have to go if you're not up to it."

Don shook his head no. "I want to do this."

He walked forward through the gates. Mac quickly caught up to him and walked at his side. The two men searched for the grave marker marked Seth Lee. They found it near where they parked, which was lucky, and stopped at it. Don bent down and put the bouquet on the marker, then started to unwrap them with his good hand; there was a spot in the ground for flowers to be set. Mac watched him struggle for a moment before bending down and taking the flowers from him.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Don rose his brows. "I don't know…"

Mac had the covering unwrapped from flowers and placed them into the hole above the marker in the ground. "It's okay to be upset that this happened."

"He was just a kid, Mac. He didn't have to shoot David like that." He looked at Mac. "Seth could have just ran off while he had the time."

"Then you wouldn't be around to talk about it."

"You don't know that."

"David would have reeled Seth back in, then persuaded him to shoot you, or would have shot you himself." Mac paused. "You know how he was persuasive."

Don paled a bit, remembering, and bit his lip. "I feel responsible for this happening. I arrived at the scene first, I proceeded without backup, got myself kidnapped, then couldn't save the kid who needed saving more that I did."

"There was nothing you could have done. You were bound, tortured… you didn't have the strength to fend David off, or to get Seth, nor yourself, out of his reach."

Don grew silent, thinking and focusing his eyes on the marker. Slowly he sat in front of the marker; Mac hesitated, then joined him. Don wore a look that said he needed to talk about something. The older man waited patiently for him to speak.

"When I was in my comatose state… I remember you saying to me, 'I know how it feels to be alone like that.' and I was wondering what you meant by that."

There was a heavy silence between them; Mac remembered saying that, and remembered how and why he had the right to say that. He pushed his hair back and looked down at his stretched out legs, then laid back with his arms folded under his head. Don watched him as he did this, moving back to brace himself against the headstone behind them. Don could tell Mac was thinking about whether or not to tell why.

Finally Mac sighed and blinked hard. "Everyone knows how I'm an ex-marine, but I don't think anyone knows about what went on in Iraq." He looked up at Don. "It was maybe half a year since I was moved to an actual base in Iraq and my platoon was put on night duty. Everything was fine and all, just a usual quiet night." Mac's voice trailed off. Don stared intently at the veteran laying beside him. "There was a kid who walked down the street towards us. I was on the ground inside a building and looking out a window when I saw him. A friend of mine was in a building across the street; he saw the kid too and walked out. So since I was curious, I also went out to the kid.

"It was a little girl, maybe thirteen or fifteen, covered in dust, dirt, soot… Her clothes were tattered, but she wore a jacket, making her seem bulky. She pleaded for us to help her, so my buddy nodded. I was a bit more skeptical than he was. He lightly touched her cheek and said, 'It's going to be okay.' She frowned and tears welled in her eyes." Mac stopped for a second, clenching her teeth for a moment. "It was unexpected. The girl unzipped the jacket and revealed bombs strapped to her chest and her sobs grew. She said in a soft voice, 'I'm sorry.' Both my friend and I ran for shelter as she fingered the button. She pressed it as soon as I was inside the building. My friend's shelter was just a few feet away…

"The next thing I knew there was debris falling all around me as I ducked and covered my head. The men stationed atop the buildings screamed and fell as the roof collapsed. My friend caught the… majority of the blast… I was surprised I had gotten cover as quickly as I did. The others atop the buildings, along with my friend, died either from the blast or the fall. I was the only one out there who had barely survived.

"After the soot and dusk cleared, I pushed the debris from on top of me and looked around. No one was there. There was a hole where the girl had stood before and there was blood. I knew I was totally alone. So I grabbed my radio and called for help. There was no one who was around or even in the area of the blast; the closest were some thirty, forty miles away. For twenty minutes I sat in the… carnage and waited."

Don said nothing. He didn't know what to say.

Mac sighed deeply. "I was maybe… twenty or twenty-five when that happened."

"I'm sorry…" Don started. Mac shook his head No and blinked.

"Don't worry." He sat up and brushed off his hands together. "I've never really told anyone about what happened. You're the first." His eyes met Don's. "But that's the only way I could have answered your question."

Don licked his lips for a moment, then gave a small sigh and looked up. Mac stood up, brushing off the seat of his pants and as much of his back as he could reach. "Why don't we get out of here?" he asked, extending a hand down to help Don to his feet. Don took the hand with his good one and tugged, grunting. Mac leaned forward and placed his hand on Don's back to help him up.

"Thanks," Don offered. Mac shrugged and released him.

The two men walked back towards the entrance of the gate, headed for the car.

----------

After another week of recovery, Don was allowed to return to work, minus the black eye and most of the bruises. He still had a few cuts on his face and the slung arm. Don walked through the CSI department slowly, looking around. Lindsay spotted him first from the lab and raced out to meet him. She smiled and gave him a quick hug. "I'm so glad you're okay." Don returned the hug, the broke from her and smiled.

"I am too."

"How was your time off from work?" she asked.

"Boring. I listened to the news most of the time, slept, went to the cemetery with Mac once…"

"The cemetery?" Lindsay asked, confused.

"We had something to take care of." He paused. "Aren't you in the middle of working?"

Lindsay laughed. "I always have time for you."

"Then why don't we get in there and I can help you. I'm not allowed on the field yet, but I can still work in the lab."

"Good idea."

Lindsay led Don into the lab, handing him a lab coat. He took his arm from the sling and handed it to her. He tenderly slid the coat over his injured arm, then accepted the sling back. She gave him a fingerprint to analyze, so he took it and scanned it.

"I'm really glad you're back." Lindsay smiled up at him. "It was boring without you popping your head in every-now-and-then."

Don smiled, typing a few letters into the computer. She noticed how quiet he was.

"You've changed haven't you?" she asked. Don nodded, biting his lip. "What happened?"

He watched as the computer compared fingerprints, glancing at Lindsay occasionally. Finally he spoke. "There's not much I can say." Their eyes met. "I woke up in a dark room, bound and gagged, then within a few hours, I was on the floor groaning in pain."

Lindsay walked up to Don and wrapped her arms around his waist. He returned the hug, kissing her temple. She sighed. "I hope this whole thing won't haunt you."

"Me too." He looked down at her. "But with you and the rest of the team here, I'm sure I won't think too much of it."

**The End**


End file.
